


Bloom

by blightpartyplanner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, dedue deserves to be surrounded by people who love him, tagged with graphic depictions of violence because it deals with the tragedy of duscur, this kinda turned into a fic about the power of friendship whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blightpartyplanner/pseuds/blightpartyplanner
Summary: A character study of Dedue. Written for Nagamas 2019.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Nagamas Gifts





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [necromancy_enthusiast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromancy_enthusiast/gifts).



> The prompt for this fic was this: "A Dedue centric fic where Dedue's trauma surrounding the Duscurian genocide is actually delved into and he doesn't just kinda passively accept it. Dedue/Dimitri is optional but if that does come in I'd prefer the focus to stay on Dedue."

The sky had been grey with smoke for the past three days. It rolled through the streets, foul and stinging, creeping into mouths and eyes and sinking deep into Dedue’s hair and clothing. He ignored it as he ran, focusing only on his sister’s hand in his. Their palms were slick with sweat, and he knew he was squeezing tightly enough to hurt her, running too fast for her shorter legs. He wanted to slow down, let go, wait for her to catch her breath. He couldn’t.

“Dedue, slow down.”

Aisha’s voice from behind, pleading with him again. The third time since they started running.

“We need to wait for Mama and Papa. They won’t know where to find us,” she pleaded. Dedue squeezed her hand, not looking back. It was the only comfort he could give.

“I can carry you if you’re tired,” he said, still pulling along his stumbling sister.

She wasn’t tired. He knew that. Aisha wasn’t as strong or as fast as him, but she could run all day if she needed to.

She would be the one to survive. He just had to get her out.

“I’m not tired. We need to wait for them.”

“We’ll wait for them outside of town.”

A rush of hot air, and the sound of splintering wood – one of the buildings next to them had just gone up in flames. The exhilarated shouts of soldiers, the screaming of people still left inside. Still inside.  
Dedue fought down a wave of nausea as he thought about his mother, shoulders squared, resolute in the doorway, still inside their house. A broom held tightly in her hands, as if that would do anything against soldiers with real weapons.

_Take Aisha and escape out the back window, she had said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience. Your father and I will be right behind you._

That last part had probably been a lie. Even so, Aisha needed to live

He yanked Aisha out of the way now, narrowly dodging a flaming beam as it fell to the side. Aisha stifled a scream, her free hand clapped over her mouth. At least that had ended the argument.  
How far could they run? He could see the end of the street, and the forest beyond that. They might be safe there, if they could find a place to hide. But the Faerghus soldiers had been setting fire to everything they came across, in the middle of Duscur’s dry season. They might be able to hide from the soldiers, but there was no hiding from a forest fire.

Still. For now, it was their best option. Thinking too hard would be just as deadly as acting thoughtlessly, and so Dedue put all his focus on the task at hand.

Aisha’s hand in his, eyes focused on the trees dancing in the wind, sparks swirling across his vision. Blurry from the smoke. The shouting was closer now. The screams were further away.  
Another one, two, lungfuls of smoky air and they would be –

Metal boots on packed dirt, closer and closer. By the time Dedue skidded to a halt, casting his eyes about for a shadow to hide in, it was too late. The soldiers had seen them.

Somehow, Aisha’s hand slipped from his. She turned to him, eyes wide with fear, and he felt something in his gut shift and plummet.

Her lips curved slightly, a sad mockery of a smile.

“You’ll run faster without me,” she said, and shoved him as hard as she could. Caught off-guard, he stumbled back a step, Aisha’s voice ringing in his ears.

“Go.”

He reached out blindly, searching for Aisha’s hand, and found it. But their hands were both slippery, slicker than fish fresh from the stream, and she pulled away from him, charging towards the soldiers.  
Spear heads glinted, piercing through the smoke. Silver, and then red, and then Aisha was crumpling to the ground and Dedue’s legs weren’t working any more. His head wasn’t working, either – neck wouldn’t turn, eyes wouldn’t blink, ears filled with spiralling white noise as a soldier wrenched a bloodied spear from a small body.

Only his heart was moving, slamming itself against the prison of his ribcage. Chest still warm from Aisha’s hands when she pushed him away, as if she was still there, crushing him with the weight of her last act.

But Aisha wasn’t there any more. In her place was a child-sized rag doll, dropped carelessly in a red puddle. In her place was something lifeless and unmoving. 

And that was where everything stopped.

*

Dedue had never been one for tears. That had been Aisha’s domain – tears, and tantrums, and fits of giggling. He had always expressed himself quietly, through actions rather than words. After the Tragedy, it became easier to withdraw into himself. The people of Faerghus would still throw stones if he flinched, would fear him even more if he grew angry, and no amount of tears could turn back time.

The young prince who had saved him had enough feelings for them both, anyway. At first, Dedue thought he would have liked to hate Dimitri – prince of the kingdom that had destroyed his homeland, the boy who had for some incalculable reason denied him his own death among his people. But it was impossible to hate him, fierce and earnest and compassionate as he was. Not when he had defended Dedue, defended all of Duscur with all of the rage his small body could muster. Not when he had carved the tragedy into every inch of his skin, determined to carry not only his own pain, but that of everyone else who had suffered because of that day.

Most importantly, Dimitri had given him a reason to keep moving. Aisha was gone, but there was someone else who needed him. As long as Dimitri needed him, there could be meaning in the fact that he was still alive. If Dimitri was happy when Dedue cooked for him, then there was meaning in him spending time in the kitchen, surrounded by spices that carried the scent of his family. If Dimitri said that he liked the flowers Dedue grew, then there was meaning to him spending time in the greenhouse, trying to resurrect Duscur blooms in the unforgiving soil.

Time passed, and although the pain did not fade, its edges grew blunt. Raw, open wounds became scars. Dedue grew tall and strong. He learned to fight, learned to strategise, learned how to protect what was dear to him. He carved promise after promise into his flesh, kneading them into aching muscles and the calluses on his hands. Nobody would ever die for him again. He would be stronger, faster, smarter. He would teach his body to move even when his mind could not. He would make use of the life that Aisha and Dimitri had saved.

He would make meaning out of it.

*

They would be leaving soon. The war had ended at last, and already the former members of the Blue Lions house were beginning to scatter to the winds. It was a time for goodbyes, and it was only now that Dedue realised he had a lot of people to say goodbye to.

Shamir should have been the easiest. Neither of them were much for drawn-out farewells. He’d almost missed her, walking out the front gate without a word, as if she were just off for a stroll. A light pack slung over her shoulder, her bow neatly stowed at her waist. She didn’t smile when she saw him, but her eyes crinkled just a little in welcome.

“Catherine and I are off. You thinking of coming with us?”

Dedue shook his head.

“My place is with his Majesty.”

“Yeah, figured you’d say that.” There was a momentary pause, and then Shamir reached up, clapping her hand on Dedue’s shoulder for the briefest of moments. “Take care, Dedue.”

“You too.”

And then she was gone, and there was a strange blank space left in her absence. It wasn’t the emptiness of loss, cold and unbearable. It was warm, somehow, as if something had cleared a neat little space in his heart.

Flayn and the professor were next, as the Faerghus army prepared for their triumphant return to Fhirdiad. Byleth stood a little stiffly in her archbishop’s garb, but her expression softened when they saw Dimitri and Dedue saddling their horses. She reached out, taking first Dimitri’s hand and then Dedue’s between her own.

“Be safe,” she said, and although her tone was as blank as ever, her eyes were brimming with emotion. Dedue squeezed her hand in return, hoping that the gesture would communicate what he could not say in words.

“You too, professor.”

Flayn managed to catch him just before they left. She had been bouncing around from one task to another almost ceaselessly the past few days, taking to her new self-appointed role as assistant to the archbishop. Dedue was just about to mount his horse when she ran up to him, pressing a small, rectangular package into his hands.

“I tried making some sweets for you,” she said. “Don’t worry, Mercedes helped, and I’ve gotten much better at cooking thanks to your lessons.” She paused for a moment, looked around, and then flung her arms around his waist, resting her head against his side. Before Dedue had a chance to react, she had withdrawn, grinning.

“It’s hard to hug people without my brother finding out, but I think he’s too busy hovering over the professor to keep tabs on me right now. I’m going to see if I can get Dimitri before you go. Goodbye, Chef Dedue!”

As Garreg Mach disappeared into the distance, Dedue felt the same strange, empty-but-not empty feeling. He had left something of himself behind at Garreg Mach, with Flayn and the professor. For safekeeping, perhaps.

It was over a year and a half before he said his next goodbyes. He, Ashe and Mercedes had all stayed by Dimitri’s side, working to repair the damage from the war. Fhirdiad was still a mess, and the rest of Faerghus was hardly any better off. As busy as Dedue was with his own work, his primary duty had slowly morphed into making sure that Dimitri got enough rest. The Saviour King, as the people were beginning to call him, hadn’t lost his tendency to sacrifice his own wellbeing for the sake of others. It took a coordinated effort to make sure he ate and slept regularly. Slowly, though, he could see Dimitri getting better, recovering alongside his kingdom. And slowly, as much as he tried to take on other duties, Dedue found himself with more and more free time. Time to garden, and to cook, and to spend with his friends. Time to read the endless letters, and to try to pen responses of his own.

Ashe became the new Lord Gaspard, and left with a sunny smile and a promise that he would visit as soon as he was able. He wrote more than anyone else, telling vivid stories of his adventures. It was easy to miss Ashe’s presence, but it was also easy to feel close to him even when he was gone. 

It wasn’t Dedue’s idea to return to Duscur. The situation in Faerghus was still too unstable for Dimitri to leave, and Dedue did not plan on going anywhere without him. But Dimitri cornered him in the greenhouse one day, announcing that it was far past time for him to take a break.

“Think of it as a diplomatic mission, if it helps,” Dimitri said, smiling slightly. “I’d like to go with you next time, but for now, I think you need to see how the rebuilding is coming along.”

There had been an argument, and then a compromise. Dedue would return to Duscur, but only for a month, and Dimitri had promised with his hand on his heart to take care of himself while Dedue was gone.

He was too sincere a man to break a promise like that, and so Dedue agreed to go.

Leaving Mercedes was surprisingly difficult. He’d gotten used to her presence, warm and calming, and the thought of being without her was somehow difficult to bear. But he was relying on her to make sure Dimitri kept his promise. And of all the things in the world, Mercedes was one of the most constant. He didn’t need to worry about her the way he did about Dimitri. It was hard to imagine that she would not be there when he returned, with the same soft smile and gentle voice.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Dimitri. The two of them were standing by the gate, both cloaked in the morning fog. Dimitri was looking better these days – cleaner, his shaggy hair pulled back from his face, the bags under his eyes lighter. He smiled more often, and while his sleep was still often plagued by the ghosts of the dead, it didn’t seem to be every night.

“I hope everything goes well for you,” he said, reaching out to clasp Dedue’s hand with both of his own. Dedue squeezed back gently.

“As discussed, I will be back in exactly one month. Please look after yourself while I am away.”

“I know. I won’t give you any cause for concern.”

“Please don’t,” said Dedue, and reached out to pull Dimitri into a quick hug.

He didn’t look back as he rode out of the gates of Fhirdiad. It was better to keep moving, to keep looking ahead. To know that he would return soon enough, and that Dimitri would be there waiting for him.

*

The last time he had been in Duscur, the land had been scorched, buildings torn down, fields trampled beneath relentless boots. Dedue had hoped that his people would have made some progress in rebuilding, but he wasn’t optimistic. Duscur’s scars ran deep, both within the land and in the hearts of the people, and even with help from the Kingdom and the Church, there were years of devastation to undo.

He’d expected tired, hungry faces, temporary housing in too-empty streets.

What he found were fields of flowers. 

They stretched across the landscape, rolling in bright and colourful waves. Already, some farmers were carefully harvesting them – this flower to be used in dyes, that one for food, that one for perfume. All of them grown above all else for their beauty. In the distance, a village rested on the banks of a river, surrounded by fields of ripe-looking vegetables.

Despite everything that had happened there, Duscur had regrown.

Dedue stared out over the fields, half-expecting to see Aisha spring up from a tall patch of grass, or to hear his mother’s voice on the wind, calling him inside to help with dinner. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine that might be the case.

It was easy, then, to imagine Flayn and Mercedes picking flowers in the same field. To imagine Ashe and Shamir practicing their archery on an errant hay stack. To imagine Dimitri lying in the middle of the field, arms outstretched, surrounded by Duscur blooms.

Something came unstuck. The time that had stopped when he saw Aisha fall began to move again. The graves of his people, resting beneath the earth. The flowers carpeting its surface. The future stretched out ahead, a beautiful and terrible burden.

Even after being burned to the ground, something new could still bloom.

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled with trying to get this one right, because I love Dedue and I think about him a lot, but I'm also not sure how well he comes across in my style. Either way, I hope my love for the character and the prompt came through, necromancy_enthusiast!
> 
> First fic on AO3, and this one's a bit of a rush job because of the deadline. Also because I haven't written fic in 1000 years and never specifically for another person before, and I was absolutely terrified the whole time I was getting it wrong, which led to a lot of procrastination.
> 
> I would've liked to have gone into more depth regarding the "not just passively accepting it" thing, but basically the way I always saw it was that Dedue's seeming acceptance of his situation wasn't so much passivity as just sort of learned helplessness, and not wanting to make an already terrible situation worse. So the best way I could think of for him to take a more active role in confronting his trauma was to show him forming bonds with others, and carving out a future for himself. I hope I didn't misinterpret the prompt by taking this approach. This is my first time really writing for someone else like this, and because it's a secret Santa I couldn't really get any feedback on the prompt before I started writing, so I hope it was okay regardless!
> 
> Also the prompt only mentioned Dimitri/Dedue as a possible ship, but I feel the need to use this platform to tell all of you not to sleep on Dedue/Ashe or Dedue/Mercedes. Or just Dedue/having a family again, which is basically what this one is.
> 
> Well, I think I'm done making excuses for myself now. Bye!


End file.
